Contest
by SteveGarbage
Summary: That led Josephine to catching sight of the note about an archery contest, which then turned into Josephine challenging Varric to said contest. Josephine had dragged both Leliana and Harding outside too, since both shot and she needed "her girls" to back her up.


The archery butts might have been the typical thirty paces away, but between the dark and the gentle swaying of the ground beneath her feet, Harding could barely see the small, red-painted circles in the center of the targets.

"You sure you ladies want to do this?"

Varric was smirking as he unfolded the arms of Bianca, the hinges silent as they swung open and clicked as they locked into place. He ran his hand down the barrel of the crossbow, checking his fingers for dust or dirt. There was none.

"I'm always ready, you, you chest hair!" Josephine stammered out as she stumbled, catching herself with her arms out to the side as if she were walking a tightrope. She took a breath and tried to steady herself, but she was swaying left and right. Harding thought. All of the ground was kind of tilting. How many bottles of wine did they drink?

"Now someone give me a bow," the ambassador demanded. "I was the best pheasant hunter in my family, I'll have you know. Even better than my brothers, they always thought they were so-"

She stopped herself as a gurgling belch trickled up her throat and she covered her mouth to stop whatever might come out of it besides words. Leliana steadied the ambassador with one hand on her shoulder as she pressed a bow into Josephine's hand and whispered something quietly to her.

Leliana was much more steady on her feet, but there was tension in her cheeks as she kept her lips pursed together. She walked more slowly than usual, each step deliberate and measured. She had drunk nearly as much wine as Josephine. But she obviously had more practice at it.

The two ladies had laid claim to a table in the corner of the Herald's Rest. Harding had just been planning to stop in to check with The Iron Bull about their next assignment, maybe chat with Krem for a few minutes and refill her wineskin, which she liked to sip at during cold nights in the wild.

Instead, Sister Nightingale had invited her over. She was too scared to refuse.

Before she knew it, there were three empty bottles of wine on the table, Josephine had opened the collar on her blouse two buttons and was quietly groaning about how dreamy Ser Blackwall was and something too embarrassing to repeat about stallions and stables and being in heat and going riding…

Who did Harding have her eye on? Leliana raised an eyebrow. Harding tried to make an excuse about it getting late and her having to travel out to the Emerald Graves tomorrow. But the ambassador was having none of it, as Josephine knocked over her glass as she pointed accusingly across the table demanding a name.

It was at that point Varric pointedly joked from across the room that "I think this is the most fun I've ever seen you have, Ruffles."

That turned Josephine's attention across the room to which she flung back some sort of half-thought out remark, which was deftly deflected and returned by Varric with laughter, which then led Josephine to catching sight of the note about an archery contest, which then turned into Josephine challenging Varric to said contest.

Josephine had dragged both Leliana and Harding outside too, since both shot and she needed "her girls" to back her up.

And now Harding was standing outside, with most of the Herald's Rest gathered around, trying to keep herself from falling into the sky as she tried to keep her palms from sweating too much under the pressure.

"What are the stakes Varric?" Leliana asked as she strung her own bow, carefully pulling the string and checking the bend of the arms.

"When I win," Varric started with a smug grin turning up the corner of his mouth. "I'll begin writing a new erotic romance thriller. Three ladies - an Antivan, an Orlesian and topsider dwarf - trying to woo the dashing dwarven merchant. The young Antivan maid, especially, who will do _anything_ to win his favor."

"Wait, Josephine-" Harding tried to squeeze in.

"Agreed!" The Ambassador shouted before anyone could get a word in edgewise. "And if we win, you… you… you'll do whatever we say. No matter how embarrassing!"

Varric rubbed his fingers across his forehead. "That's not very specific, Ruffles," Varric sighed. "But I'm a betting man and I've very, very confident I'll win. I accept.

"Miss the bullseye and you're out. After five rounds, we'll move to sudden death, closest to center wins. Shall I begin, or would you like to?"

Josephine's feet crossed as she nearly spun herself to the ground. She awkwardly shoved Varric out of the way, taking her place at the mark. She set her feet, surprisingly still for a moment, took a deep breath and placed the arrow to the string.

"Watch how it's done, dwarf," Josephine said as she raised the bow and pulled the string back. Her arms were swaying so much left and right it looked as if she were slow dancing with the bow.

And then she let it go.

The bow jerked upward, the arrow flying up, up, up and over the wall. The string snapped back and thrummed against her wrist. The recoil of the bow bending back was enough to knock Josephine back a step, which then tangled her feet and she stumbled, falling rump first onto the ground.

"Did I, did I hit it?"

A thorough chorus of laughter from the spectators answered her.

"Oh no," Josephine said, pressing her hands to her cheeks. "Oh no, no, no, no. I can't be in a erotic novel. My sister reads _all_ of Varric's stories. She'll know it's me. She'll-"

Another gurgle closed Josephine's mouth as she awkwardly pushed herself to her feet and ran in a zig-zag toward the bushes.

"I do feel bad for both of you," Varric said. "I really do. You know, Carver used to get drunk and run his mouth a lot like that, too. Ahhh, memories."

Leliana lifted her bow, steadying her arm and firing off a shot just as quickly. The arrow whistled and drove into the straw butt, hitting the top right edge of the red ring.

"You haven't won yet, Varric," Leliana reminded him.

"Nice shot, Nightingale," Varric said. He extended his hand toward the line. "Ladies first, Freckles."

It's a good thing it was dark, because Harding was sure that her freckled cheeks were probably now pink and flush, and not just from the wine. Varric gave pet names to everyone, she knew. He had a habit of either picking out some flaw that he knew you were self-conscious about, or some kind of cutesy name of endearment.

Harding couldn't be sure which it was. She wasn't too embarrassed by her freckles, she didn't think. Did Varric think she was? Or was he just being nice? She couldn't believe she was important enough to get a nickname in the first place. Maker, his chest hair was so golden, like a lion's mane…

She put the toe of her left boot right on the line and wiped her palm on her pants to get the nervous sweat off it. She blinked and watched as the targets at the end of the range bobbed and swayed slightly up and down. How did she get into this mess?

She didn't think she was one of Josephine's "girls." They really hadn't even spoken, ever, before tonight. Outside of brief updates from the field and reports. Josephine was always so proper, except, it seemed, when you pumped her full of eight or nine or so glasses of wine.

Now she was on the verge of being featured in some naughty story that Varric would distribute all over the world. She hoped he wasn't going to use her actual name in the story. It would be bad enough if he just used her likeness, or something close to her. All the girls back home in Redcliffe would know.

Harding lifted her bow, sticking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, feeling the slight breeze on the spit in the corner of her mouth. She moved to arrow slightly to the right to compensate for her drunken sway and let it fly.

The arrow twisted, the white fletching spiraling as the arrow drove inside the ring, on the right side but slightly inward of where Leliana's had landed. The patrons rewarded her with a hearty cheer.

"Very nice," Varric said, stepping up next to her and quickly hoisting Bianca, resting the wooden butt against his right shoulder.

"Come on, baby, it's me," Varric cooed softly to the crossbow. He pulled the trigger, the first shot striking center on the target. He moved slightly to the right, sending a second bolt into the center of that target. And then a third shot, striking center in the third target in a row.

"You're wonderful, as always, darling." Varric lifted the crossbow, planting a small kiss on the barrel.

Cheers. Hoots. Whistling. Varric smiled and Harding could smell ale on his breath, but he didn't seem to be bothered by it at all. His sturdy dwarf feet were planted firmly to the ground.

Leliana stepped up again, lifting her bow and planting a second arrow inside the ring, the shaft just barely scraping against the crossbow bolt Varric had planted. She reached down to her quiver for another arrow.

"You know, Nightingale, maybe your character loses interest in the handsome dwarf," Varric said as Leliana lined up her next shot. "Has her eye caught by a stunning, just gorgeous bard who comes to try to off the dashing merchant. Lustrous, black hair and a body that just won't quit. Evil to the core, but just sooo irresistible."

Leliana loosed her shot, the arrow striking just north of the bullseye. A collective gasp let go at the shocking miss. The spymaster slowly lowered her bow and pulled her purple hood back over her head. She scowled at Varric, who was clearly playing dirty.

Leliana paced silently over to the bushes to collect Josephine, who was dabbing her mouth with a soft kerchief and trying to fix her dishelved hair.

"... you lost!" Josephine cried out in lament. "Oh no. Oh no! I don't want to be in a book! What was I thinking! Lace! Lace, you have to win! Pleeease!"

No pressure, right?

Varric was still smirking. "Your shot, Freckles."

Harding nocked a fresh arrow to the string and squinted to look down the poorly lit range. Varric had planted his shots in the center of both targets. It was strategic to cheat and take extra shots, because he would force her toward the edges where she would be more likely to miss.

She lifted her bow, aiming for the top right quadrant of the bullseye on the second target, away from both Varric and Leliana's shots. Just like aiming at the joint in the Venatori helmets, where you could squeeze an arrow in between the plates on the heavy helm. Just like peering through the shifting leaves of the tree while waiting to spring an ambush.

Her shot cut down the range, striking its mark just inside the red ring in the top right quadrant.

Harding ignored the cheering, placing the third arrow to the string and glancing at the right-most target. She pointed the tip of her arrow down a little bit, taking her eyes off Leliana's missed shot and spotting just below Varric's center hit. Wind was light. The range wasn't that long, so she wouldn't get too much help from gravity to drop her shot. She nudged the bow down just a little bit more, biting her teeth in her tongue and she held her breath.

The bowstring raked her forearm as it shot, sending the arrow, but with the tail feathers wobbling. She watched as it tailed downward, dropping much faster than anticipated without the right power. It struck, low, and she held her breath. There was a collective silence.

"Juuuuust got the edge!" a spectator at the far end of the range. "It's in!" The men at the far end began clearing the targets.

"Not bad," Varric said. "I keep telling everyone, no one shoots better than a dwarf. Humans? Nah. Elves? Pssshaw. Qunari? Forget about it. Until you're four feet tall and learn how to shoot with stubby arms, you're just an amateur, right?"

Perhaps it was the wine talking, but Harding suddenly felt very bold. "Says the man who uses a crossbow," Harding snipped. "Even a baby can kill an archdemon by pulling a trigger."

Ooooohhhhh! Sizzzzle! She said whaaaaat? The rest of the Herald's Rest might have been as drunk as Josephine, Harding thought as she listened to them.

Varric was not deterred, though. "Bianca does a lot of the work, true, but she doesn't sing for just anyone."

He lifted the crossbow with one hand, aiming it down at the end of the range, not bothering to turn his head, and let fly another bolt. Harding watched as it drove into the center of another one of the cleared targets.

Ooooooooooooo…

Harding groaned, slowly lifting her bow again, bending her left elbow out a little bit more to keep her forearm away from the string. She looked at Varric's bolt in the left-most target. This was like looking at a Red Templar. With the shield on their left side for protection, you had to look for an opening. The bullseye was probably just a little larger than a Templar's wrist, with the thinner, flexible armor of a gauntlet. An arrow through the wrist would make them drop their sword.

She fired, the arrow flying confidently and matching Varric's shot to even louder cheers and applause.

Harding reached to her quiver, pulling up the next arrow and staying put. She'd fire first on this one and make him push his shot to the edges. Center target. Totally empty. Easy, even if she could barely see it and the ground was still swaying slightly to the left. Just like a dopy shade, with it's big blue eyes.

The twang of the bow was sweet music as the fifth shot drove straight into the bullseye, her best shot yet of the night.

"Wooooo!" Josephine yelled from the sidelines. "Take that, dwarfy dwarf! Go, go, Scout Harding!"

"I'm impressed," Varric said. "I thought you had as much to drink as the others."

"One glass less. I may be small, but we both know we can hold a little liquor better than any human," she said daring a grin.

"True, true," Varric said. "Hawke always thought he could out-drink me. Came close a couple times, but when I really have to turn it on, I can go a long, long way."

Varric adjusted a knob on Bianca and twisted the ring on the end of his scope one click to the left. "You know, I'd hate to embarrass a sweet girl like you in print, Freckles," Varric said as he hoisted Bianca to his shoulder again. "How about after I hit this shot, we call it a draw. I'll leave you out of the story. Ruffles was the one who really started all of this. Readers aren't particularly into dwarves anyway, no offense."

"I can't let Josephine down," Harding said, giving a wink to the ambassador. "Besides, I'm pretty sure I'm going to win in the sudden death round."

"Oh, is that so?" Varric said as he peered down. "Confident enough to risk being in a trashy romance rag? Just so you know, the dwarven merchant I have in mind is _very_ devious and aloof. He can't not break hearts wherever he goes."

"It's not a problem," Harding said confidently.

Josephine had been pressing her for who her secret crush was.

There was only one man in Skyhold who really was her type.

Only one man who was rich, handsome, skilled with a bow and dwarf-sized.

She leaned forward and whispered into Varric's ear. Perhaps it was the wine again.

"I'm not afraid of getting a little dirty with a gorgeous merchant prince."

Bianca jumped, the automatic crossbow spraying two bolts, one of which barely hit the edge of the target and the other that missed it completely, clanging against the stones in the tower wall of Quartermaster Morris' office.

The cheers were deafening. Varric chuckled to himself as he lowered Bianca, his eyes turning sidelong to Harding as she smiled triumphantly.

"I didn't take you for that kind of girl, Freckles," Varric said.

"It's very lonely in the woods," Harding said with a shrug.

"Not that kind," Varric said. "I meant I didn't take you for a cheater. I've got a soft spot for cheaters, you know."

Harding didn't think it was cheating, if it was true.

"I'll admit, you got the better of me on this one. Well played."

"I aim to please," Harding said.

"And what kind of prize will you be wanting?"

Harding took a step closer, with all eyes on her. She glanced down at the crossbow hanging in Varric's hand.

She didn't intend on sharing.

Harding reached down and smacked Bianca out of his hand, knocking it to the ground.

And then she had both her hands wrapped around the ornately stitched edges of his open shirt as she pressed her lips down onto his, forcing her tongue into his mouth.

Her hands raked through his gloriously soft and curly chest hair, scrunching handfuls of it into her palms as she claimed victory.


End file.
